To Pun is Human
by Rinne
Summary: Sam was really sick of Dean’s stupid jokes. Of course, Dean wasn’t the only one making the jokes. COMPLETE


Title: To Pun is Human

Rating: PG-13 (Some swearing)

Genre: Gen

Characters: Sam and Dean

Spoilers: None

Word count: 927

Challenge: Written for the LJ ficfoundspn challenge no. 5.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything, not being paid

A/N: Gigantic thank you to starrylizard and Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for both looking through/betaing and helping out a lot with the puns and to freelance for betaing.

Summary: Sam was really sick of Dean's stupid jokes. Of course, Dean wasn't the only one making the jokes.

Neither Sam nor Dean really noticed when it started. And neither of them really knew when the other finally noticed it and started doing it intentionally.

* * *

They were trudging through a field, hot and tired. The grass made walking difficult and there were a billion flies around, courtesy of the enormous cowpats scattered liberally throughout the tussocks.

Sam kept his head down, trying to stop any more flies from finding his mouth, eyes or nose attractive. It was a losing battle, but he wasn't going to change his strategy, partially because he didn't want to flap his arms around like an idiot and be a carbon copy of Dean. It looked like he was trying to use the shotgun to whack the flies away from him, which was proving to be oh-so-successful and something that their father would have _totally_ approved of.

Of course, when Sam had voiced that opinion Dean had firmly shut him down with an "I know what I'm doing and, anyway, the only thing I'm going to hit is a cow or the whiny, pissy bitch beside me." Sam shut up, taking it to be the threat it was intended to be.

He snorted, trying to dislodge a particularly persistent fly. When it didn't budge, he hit it away.

"Bullshit!"

Sam's head jerked up defensively. "What? Dean, I didn't say anything!"

Dean pointed with a stupid grin at a particularly large cowpat and Sam rolled his eyes. He was really sick of Dean's stupid jokes.

* * *

A possessed donkey. They were performing an exorcism on a possessed donkey. Somehow, Sam really wasn't surprised when Dean spoke.

"Dumbass!"

Yeah, so not surprised.

* * *

They'd never dealt with a succubus before – or an incubus, for that matter. But the succubus was the relevant monster of the week. Sam really wished it wasn't relevant, because waking up to find a winged being lying over your brother's sleeping body, engaged in pursuits he'd rather not think about in relation to his brother, just wasn't nice. Although, Dean having his life sucked out through his balls was kind of ironic.

Sam reached down beside the bed to where he'd conveniently left his silver bullet loaded gun – ready in case the succubus tried to go after one of them; not that they expected it to choose them out of the however many men there were in this town – and brought it quickly up, firing twice at the succubus' body.

He hadn't really realised that he'd shouted, "Fuck off," until after the succubus exploded in a pile of goo. He took a few seconds to admire the appropriateness of his words and lament the fact that Dean wasn't awake to hear it, before approaching his now goo-covered brother. Satisfied that Dean was still breathing, he wrapped the blanket around Dean's body and hauled him over his shoulder.

They needed to get out of dodge before anybody investigated the shots. Explaining a motel room splattered in green and red gore and an unconscious brother would not be fun.

Explaining to Dean how exactly the Impala got covered in said gore was preferable - even watching him clean it, because he had saved Dean's life after all, and hell would have to freeze over before Sam would do it.

* * *

Flatware flying across the room: check. Furniture that moves on its own: check. An unearthly wind howling through the house while it was perfectly still outside: check.

"This job blows," Dean said breathlessly as he dived beside Sam behind the couch.

Check.

* * *

"I bet it's a poultry-geist."

Sam rolled his eyes and didn't dignify Dean's wisecrack with an answer. He wasn't talking to Dean, anyway. Of all the stupid jobs they could do, this had to be the one that took the cake.

A poltergeist. A poltergeist haunting a chicken coop. Could it get any more ridiculous?

But, things had been slow, and the farmer had offered to pay. It would be insane to turn down money, even if it meant sitting out in a chicken coop all night surrounded by the occasional 'cluck' and chicken shit.

Dean got up to pace for the fifty-billionth time and a chicken suddenly darted out right in front of him.

"Shit!"

And then, to Sam's satisfaction, Dean tripped and took a nosedive. Sam couldn't help himself, he snorted. Dean glared at him, but the crap sticking to his clothes and hands ruined the effect.

"You're chicken shit," Sam said with glee, sniggering loudly.

"So not funny, Sam."

"Just a little," Sam said, holding his finger and thumb apart an inch and smiling widely. It was worth the shit Dean flung his way.

* * *

"Where are we, again?"

"Dead centre of nowhere."

"Dean! This is _deadly_ serious!**"**

"Very grave situation, little brother."

"Here's hoping that Mrs King doesn't put up a spirited fight."

"You know, I've always wondered why there are fences around cemeteries. It seems kinda pointless."

"Because people are dying to get in."

"Sam, I can't believe you! You've been cheating!"

"You cheated first. Somebody had already visited that website before I did."

"Of course I cheated! I'm me. But, you…well, you're you. I dunno, I expected better of you, Sammy."

"Right back at you. Getting your jokes off the internet. Jeez, Dean. Could you be anymore lame?"

"That's it; I'm never making a joke again."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Can you see Mrs King's grave yet?"

"Nope."

"Oh, hey, it's over here."

"Hey, Sam, why don't witches like to ride their brooms when they're angry?"

"You're incorrigible."

"You know, two psychics are just a pair-a-normal people."

"Kill me now."

THE END


End file.
